"Loss, daughter dear?" he said, taking her in his arms to wipe away the
tears that were freely coursing down her cheeks, and caress her with
exceeding tenderness.

"No, papa, not lost, but only gone before," she answered, a lovely
smile suddenly irradiating her features; "nor does he seem far away. I
often feel that he is very near me still, though I can neither see nor
speak to him nor hear his loved voice," she went on, in a dreamy tone, a
far-away look in the soft brown eyes as she stood, with her head on her
father's shoulder, his arm encircling her waist.

Both were silent for some moments; then Elsie, lifting her eyes to her
father's face, asked, "Were you serious in what you said about my laying
aside mourning, papa?"

"Never more so," he answered. "It is a gloomy, unwholesome dress, and I
have grown very weary of seeing you wear it. It would be very gratifying
to me to see you exchange it for more cheerful attire."

"But black is considered the most suitable dress for old and elderly
ladies, papa; and I am a grandmother, you know."

"What of that?" he said, a trifle impatiently; "you do not look old, and
are, in fact, just in the prime of life. And it is not like you to be
concerned about what people may think or say. Usually your only inquiry
is, 'Is it right?' 'Is it what I ought to do?'"

"I fear that is a deserved reproof, papa," she said, with unaffected
humility; "and I shall be governed by your wishes in this matter, for
they have been law to me almost all my life (a law I have loved to